


No Clean Victory

by CerberAsta



Series: Theros 2: Uncharted Realms [3]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: F/M, Slap Slap Kiss, Y'all know Anax and Cymede were on that enemies to lovers, demigod - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerberAsta/pseuds/CerberAsta
Summary: Anax was devastated by the disappearance of Cymede, and now he seeks a way to get her back.
Relationships: Anax (Magic: the Gathering) - Relationship, Cymede (Magic: the Gathering)
Series: Theros 2: Uncharted Realms [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589761
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	No Clean Victory

There was no such thing as a clean victory. Anax had been told that by his father as a boy, but he had since been taken in by the gallant image of Iroas. The games had convinced him otherwise, for a time. And as the commander of the Akroan legions, it had seemed his victories had been all themselves clean ones. There were deaths, sure, but the exultation in victory seemed to wipe away even the bleakest moments of battle.

It was a hard lesson he had to learn during the great Minotaur War. As he and Elspeth fought against the Rageblood to buy the others time for their strange plan, he thought it would be easy. _Clean_. It had been anything but. Sure, the diverted river-- the scalding, elemental beast it became under vile Keranos’ command, had washed the entire minotaur menace from the face of Akros. In the confusion, Keranos had also taken Cymede from him.

Supposedly, Daxos had been there to see it, but he did not relate the news to Anax himself. Like a coward, he sent someone else to bear the news out. Anthousa told him, and the wounded king shattered the cup of medicine he held in his hands, spilling the foul-smelling liquid to the floor. Even as his attendant shouted and gibbered about, Anax was drawing himself up to full height.

“In what way did this happen?” he snarled.

“Please, Anax, understand… There is nothing to be done. Cymede offered herself as Keranos’ prophet so that he would save Akros.”

“I knew that erratic mad god hadn’t helped us on a whim… And that simpering Daxos did nothing?” Anax hissed, “He failed in every respect to save _my wife_?”

“If your wife could not save herself, no one could,” Anthousa said, “Even Setessa knows of her records.”

“I know how great she is,” Anax said quietly.

That was a lesson he had learned early but hadn't fully taken to heart even in the days leading up to his wife's disappearance. He did not appreciate her, and she had known it. She had had to drag respect out of him, and a less stubborn woman would not have done it. He had not deserved her, and she knew it. 

He remembered the early days of their meeting-- they were equally renowned in their arenas. Her in philosophy and stratagem, him in combat and inspiration. They quickly entered into competition against one another, learning from the other in the arenas they lacked prowess. Anax and Cymede were bitter in their early rivalries, mocking one another’s weaknesses and bitterly deriding their strengths.

“Insipid brute.”

“Mealy-mouthed worm.”

Then came the day Cymede tossed Anax over her shoulder and pinned him to the ground with her foot on his throat. He could not break free without breaking his neck, and he snorted in anguish. Weeks passed, and he cornered Cymede’s piece in a strategy game, and it took all her years of training in decorum not to toss over the board and throw a piece into his smug mouth.

It was as much a surprise to them as anyone else when they were found in a weapons closet, half-clothed.

Anax would have given anything to go back to that one, singular moment of raw passion. Of a burning rivalry walking the fine line between hate and love and finally losing its balance. 

But nothing could do that. He could only march forward, but not without Cymede. 

***

A dozen sacrifices were lined up at the temple, and Anax stood behind the line. All he wore was a basic white skirt and leather gloves. He had oiled the rest of his body, bearing only a spear in one hand and a torch in the other. He methodically lit each pyre and began dancing in jerking, jumping motions, mimicking the dance of battle. His spear swung about more like a baton than a weapon. Internally, he cursed his rusty form-- these rituals were Cymede’s specialty.

Anax howled at the sky as he danced. He picked up a shield and slammed the wide part of the spear against it like a gong, sending crashing noise high into Nyx. Many gods stirred in the constellations, faintly hearing the howling cries of the king of Akros. Only one responded.

Battle-Charged Iroas galloped down in starry form, slowly solidifying into the form of a shadow-helmed centaur with spear in hand. Twin stars shone from within the massive helm, and Anax knew the god was gazing directly down on him. The king placed the butt of his spear on the ground and held the shield in traditional form.

“Cymede has been stolen from me,” Anax snarled. 

“She offered herself rightfully to Keranos,” Iroas boomed, “I cannot intervene in this matter.”

The next words were dangerous. Many constellations were stirring, and Anax could feel more eyes than Iroas’ on him.

“I would make war on Keranos for her.”

Thunder boomed in the distance, and lightning struck. Bolts from the blue erupted above Akros and found their mark. Magic surged through Anax’s body in response, and the lightning was channeled into his spear. Anax growled and spun in place, launching the spear into the sky. The lightning within it supercharged it, and it blazed into pure magic, striking at Nyx where Keranos loomed. The god’s eyes widened as the altered energy flooded where he stood and the point of the spear gouged him. Iroas looked up, nodding softly.

“I have the power to keep Akros safe from Keranos’ retaliation, but I cannot risk a battle with Keranos at this time.”

Anax’s mouth tightened and his fists clenched.

“ _What_?”

Iroas gazed down at his favored subject.

“Keranos is powerful and swift. I have duties I must attend to, while he is petty and would give up all his obligations to focus on me. It would be chaos for Theros in ways unimaginable, and I cannot bring that about.”

“He has taken one of your greatest subjects, who brought unimaginable honor to your name!” Anax bellowed, “Have you no sense of _shame_ in abandoning such a subject?!”

Iroas’ form stiffened, and his fingers clenched around the massive spear. Anax’s chest heaved slowly as he tried to regain his breath. Dancing, howling, and the standoff against Keranos had taken their toll. The god and mortal stared each other down.

“She abandoned me,” Iroas finally said, “She did not desire the victory I offered, or the price it would demand. Cymede sought more.”

Anax’s eyes widened. The bluster of the battle came crashing through his mind.

“If Cymede had not unleashed the river, the minotaurs would have charged my men. We would have suffered countless losses.”

Iroas slammed the butt of his spear down.

“You would have won, Anax! Akros must test its mettle in all things, for all time! The purpose of an army is to fight and win, and there are no clean victories! Victory is valuable because it is purchased with metal and blood. Cymede cheated me out of a glorious battle, and in so doing she has forsaken me. Even if I could battle against Keranos, I would not. Not for _her_.”

Anax clenched his hands into fists. He shook violently. A low, guttural growl rumbled up from his stomach, through his chest, like a great beast stalking its way towards a challenger. He roared at the god, and though he would never admit it, the Battle-Charged flinched.

“TO FORSAKE CYMEDE IS TO FORSAKE ME!”

Iroas looked up towards Nyx. His back legs quivered as he prepared to leave.

“I will let free all obligations. If you cannot help me take Keranos, I will find a god who _will_. Elspeth may have been the first to kill a god,” Anax snarled, “But if Keranos does not relent, she will not have been the last.”

Iroas snapped to attention. 

“Be careful what names you invoke, Anax, and be wise which gods you make an enemy of. To forsake victory is to invite defeat.”

“I have already been defeated,” Anax said, “There is nothing left to lose.”

The Battle-Charged leaped into the air, dissolving into bronze-and-gold light and taking his place in the ever-shifting night sky. 

***

Only one of the major gods could help him, then. If that was so, there was only one who Anax could possibly convince to aid his cause. So he charged across the landscape. He left Akros with only his armor, spear and shield, and bare travelling essentials. 

“Who will rule?” an advisor asked.

“A stuck pig, for all I care,” Anax said, “Akros is so much ash without her.”

“With all due respect-!”

The old man was interrupted by a fist to the mouth as Anax walked by him and through the doors. He left the palace entirely, and he strode for days. He hunted for food in the wilds, skewering boars and offering what remained after his meals to the god he intended to plead with.

“Mighty Purphoros, stoker of passions, greatest of fires, I beseech thee,” he whispered as the smoke rose to Nyx.

Monsters intercepted his course, and they met a spear unshakable, a shield unbreakable. Anax roared and fought like a lion. The beast of a man found a dragon between him and Purphoros’ mountain. It raised one serpentine head and blinked its eyes as it surveyed the man.

“You will leave me to my journey,” Anax snarled, “Or you will taste bronze as your final meal.”

The dragon roared and streamed fire from its maw. Anax charged, shield first. Fire plumed all around him and even caught his legs, but still he charged. He leaped through the scorching heat and into the dragon’s mouth. His spear shot through the roof of the beast’s maw and sprouted from its head. The dragon screamed as it fell back, blood spurting violently. The mountain shook on impact. 

For a long moment, all was still.

Then a scorched, ashen Anax emerged from the hateful beast’s mouth, his body smoking. Agony wracked him, but it did not match the pain streaking his heart. He climbed the mountain for hours. His mind and spirit pushed his body beyond all limits, and at last, he sat at Purphoros’ door.

Anax finally succumbed to his wounds and the world went dark. A few minutes later, the Bronze-Blooded God opened his door and looked down on the wretched creature almost devoid of life. He plucked him from the mountain dirt and inspected him with a craftsman’s eye. All of Anax’s life was laid before the god’s careful eye. A dark chuckle escaped Purphoros.

“Interesting… Let us hear your case, little mortal.”

***

Anax woke up with a start. His body continued to burn. He glanced down at his legs to see molten gold covering them-- no, running _through_ them. The former King of Akros looked around wildly, grunting in shock and pain. 

“Easy now,” came a thunderous rumble.

A, currently human-sized, Purphoros was in the middle of his work. A great hammer swung in a sharp arc down towards a piece of metal. Godly sparks shot out with each grinding collision of Purphoros’s will-imbued hammer and the piece. In short order, an axe came out of the process while the uncertain mortal watched. Purphoros twirled it effortlessly in one hand, admiring the red rivers of power etched into the golden weapon. 

“I patched you up enough for you to live for a little while,” Purphoros boomed, “But it was something of a rush job. Mortal life is so tenuous.”

Anax stared, only just beginning to comprehend.

“I can feel my heart burning,” Anax said quietly.

“You were fated to die against the Rageblood. I can see my sister’s work upon you,” Purphoros said, “Something curious took place. An interloper. But my favorite sister is persistent, little Anax of Akros.”

News of his fated death struck against the former King, but even that could not deter his mission.

“I… If I am to die, I must get back Cymede first. She is all I am and more.”

Purphoros chuckled and placed the axehead on the floor, leaning on it like a cane.

“Your passion is true, Anax. That dragon killed you, and you’re still walking. Very well. I’ll grant you the power to become a weapon capable of fighting a god, Anax,” Purphoros said, “I could use one around at any rate, with what that fool Heliod is doing.”

“I pledge to serve you,” Anax said quietly, “So that I might undo what the Storm God was done.”

“I cannot go against destiny,” Purphoros said, “This will kill you, but I will restore the passion that burns within. I will stoke it until it is a flame capable of burning all of Theros.”

Anax clutched a hand into a fist.

“Very well.”

Bright flames snapped to life around Purphoros. The god placed one hand on Anax’s chest, and the mortal screamed as the Bronze-Blooded’s essence flooded his body and wiped him clean. 

This would be a victory. 

But it would not be clean.

No victory ever was.


End file.
